


Workplace Fraternization

by SomewhereApart



Series: Inspired by OQ [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by OQ, Verse: Breaking In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: When Regina works late, Robin stops by to bring her dinner...and dessert.





	Workplace Fraternization

**Author's Note:**

> For InspiredbyOQ Day 3. Based on a manip by @starscythe

Of all the places for them to inappropriately hook up, her office is absolutely the worst choice. 

And yet. 

She’s had a shitty day in the middle of a shitty week, and she can’t leave until she finishes this stupid project for her latest client. It’s Robin’s night off, so she’d asked him to pick Henry up from school and watch him—the last thing she’d expected was for him to show up here, telling her that he’d called Mary Margaret to watch Henry so he could keep her company while she finished up.

He’d brought dinner—a to-go kale salad from the Magic Bean that she’d wolfed down as she worked, her stomach empty and growling from a day of going unfed. He’d also brought wine, which she’d felt only a mild amount of guilt in indulging while she worked. They’d sipped it out of mugs from the break room, and she’d had maybe a little more than she ought to have, but, well, she _does_ have a ride home if she needs one, doesn’t she?

She’ll blame the wine, later, she thinks. 

The Two Buck Chuck on a not-full-enough stomach will be the excuse for why she’s currently letting him actually indulge one of his fantasies of kissing her breathless against the edge of her desk, his hands on her ass, a moan in his throat as he gropes at her through the snug material of her black pencil skirt. She’s wearing a button-down blouse, or she was, anyway, but it’s unbuttoned now, and his henley is hanging off the edge of her desk chair, his belt and button undone before she’d remembered that they weren’t going to have actual _sex_ when they took this little break.

He’d wanted to eat her out. 

That’s what he’d said when she’d stood for a minute to stretch, tilting her torso this way and that until her spine popped (she’s overdue for a massage, she should make an appointment…). Apparently something in the movement had made her ass look particularly enticing, because he’d groaned and told her that one of his most fervent fantasies was to lean her against that desk, shove one of those tight skirts up to her waist and bury his head between her thighs.

And the office had been empty except for them, most of the lights off, the front door locked for the night (everyone has keys, but nobody will be back, and she doesn’t even have to worry irrationally about Sidney because she knows for a fact he’s spending tonight at the DC symphony with his niece). So there had seemed very little harm in taking a quick break to let him go down on her on her desk. 

Plenty _wrong_ with it, but very little harm, and she’d had a headache and a backache and a general desire to shove it to her asshole boss. Getting a little in the office seemed like a fine plan. 

So here they are, one of those hands leaving her ass to push her blouse down off her shoulders—something wholly unnecessary if he’s only going to go down on her, but, well… It seems there’s more on the menu tonight than that, after all.

So she busies herself with his fly again, tugs it down and reaches a hand in to find him hard and waiting. He groans but loops his fingers around her wrist and stills her.

“Let me do you first,” he urges, and then he’s kissing his way down, warm, open-mouthed kisses over her clavicle, down the slope of her breast, giving her a teasing bite to her left nipple and then making his way down her belly. His beard tickles, and she laughs softly, biting her lip when he smirks up at her.

“Tickles,” she explains, and then he grins and draws his chin lightly over the sensitive skin again, as his fingers find the hem of her skirt and guide it up, up, up… She giggles softly and threads her fingers through his hair, pushing his head away with a mild, “Stop that…”

He can tell how little she means it, she knows he can, because he’s still smirking and while he does stop the beard tickles, he trades them for a noisy, sucking kiss just above her waistband.

She laughs again (snorts, really, but she’s not going to admit that), but by then he’s worked her skirt up to bunch at her hips, his fingers sneaking beneath the fabric to tug at her panties and draw them down her legs. He tosses them onto her chair behind him, then grabs her knees and gives her a little tug, spreading them open, urging her closer, and then he’s leaning in and— _oh God_ —giving her clit these soft little sucks to get her warmed up.

Regina swallows hard and shuts her eyes, her heart racing at what they’re doing, or rather _where_ they’re doing it. She’s in her office, her place of _business_ , half-undressed, balancing on one stiletto heel and the edge of her desk while her boyfriend _eats her out_. She can add it to the list of places they’ve had sex (her living room, the den, the downstairs powder room, and every _other_ room in the house except for Henry’s) that she’ll never be able to look at without her mind occasionally wandering to the toe-curling orgasms they’ve had there.

Those gentle sucks migrate, Robin making his way down one of her inner lips and then running his tongue up it wetly before teasing her clit again. Her toes curl in her shoes, the heel of one slipping off as her breath hitches. She loves when he does this, how he takes his time with her, but they don’t really _have_ time right now…

She could get fired for this (but then again, it’s probably not in the company manual…). They could get caught doing this, and she’d never live it down (the office is closed, they’re not going to get caught). 

He’s made his way down the other side and back up before he pulls back and frowns slightly at her, giving her hips a squeeze. “I can hear you thinking from here. Just relax, babe.”

“What if we get caught?” she whispers, as though they’re at any risk of being overhead.

Robin makes a point of looking around, peering out her door into the dark, empty office space beyond, before he looks back at her and asks the obvious question: “By whom?”

“What if—I don’t know, what if Leo has security cameras or something?”

He scowls a little at that, considering, and turns his head into her thigh to press a warm, slow kiss there. It makes her swallow thickly, makes her ache for more of his tongue, doing that same thing, elsewhere. 

“Do you want to stop?” he asks, and no, she really, really doesn’t, it’s just…

“No,” she tells him, because if there were cameras in the _office_ , they’d know. They’d be visible, obvious, security cameras and there aren’t any of those. She’s just being ridiculous. So she shakes her head, and then rolls her shoulders out and says more firmly, “No, I’m being silly; keep going.”

He doesn’t though. He looks at her for a moment, then pushes back to his feet and moves to flip off the fluorescent overhead light, twisting on the dimmer incandescent she uses sometimes when she has a migraine brewing. It makes everything more intimate, a bit more shadowed, so when he moves back between her legs, she expects him to drop back to his knees. Instead he tangles his fingers in her nape and kisses her languidly, tongues teasing for a moment before he tips out of the kiss and lets their brows rest together.

“Why don’t you come down to the floor with me back here,” he urges, giving her a little tug in that direction as he begins to sink down, finishing, “And sit on my face.”

She snickers, and it’s contagious—by the time her knees hit the laminate, they’re both doing it, Regina shaking her head and asking, “How does this help our problem, exactly?”

Robin nods his chin toward her (beyond her, really) and points out, “Less visible from outside the door.”

She cranes her neck and realizes he has a point, then straddles him, letting him guide her up over his face and push her skirt up again from where it’s begun to slip down her thighs. 

“This can’t be comfortable for you,” she points out as his arms wrap around the hinge of her hips and thighs and draw her down. 

“I’ll live,” he dismisses, and then his chin tips up as she sinks down the rest of the way and he’s not teasing her anymore, his tongue sure and firm as it licks from her sex to her clit and then begins to give her these delightful rolling sort of licks.

“You’re not”—she swallows heavily, then gasps at a little spark of pleasure—“gonna get a crick in your— _mm!_ ”

His lips catch her clit, sucking it in and rubbing his tongue against it in that way that makes everything clench—her thighs, her fingers, her… everything. She stops asking questions after that, just focuses on what he’s doing, on the way he takes advantage of a jerk of her hips to move from her clit to fucking her with his tongue, and the way she really, genuinely enjoys grinding herself on his face as he does. They don’t do it this way often, but every time they _do_ she wonders why. She likes the control, likes being able to guide him, likes not having to say anything, just move her hips this way or that, drawing him back to her clit with just a shift of position when she starts to miss the more acute sensation of him using his tongue _there_.

He doesn’t disappoint, giving her a couple of hard licks and then sucking at her again, harder now, quicker, in a way that makes her breathe, “ _Guh!”_ and, “ _Oh, f—mmm...”_ and, “ _Like that, don’t stop_ …”

She’s close, rocking and grinding and gasping and moaning, one hand in his hair, the other squeezing her breast, teasing her own nipple sharply, when she hears, “Regina, are you still—Oh.”

To say she panics is a bit of an understatement. Regina curses and fumbles, scrambling backward off Robin’s face like they can in any universe pretend they weren’t just fucking in her office. It’s clumsy and obvious, not helped at all by the way Robin sits up and scoots from beneath her, shirtless—oh God, they’re both shirtless. She’s half-dressed and she _knew_ this was a bad idea. Shit. Fuck.

“I thought you were out of town until tomorrow,” she hisses to Mal, who’s just leaning against the door jamb, smirking at them, one brow lifting as Robin wipes the back of his hand against his mouth, and, oh, Regina will murder him for that one later.

“I got back tonight,” Mal tells her uselessly, drumming her fingers against the stack of manila folders in the crook of her elbow. “Thought I’d stop by the office on my way in and grab some files to go over tonight, since I have that TLK meeting in the morning. I saw your light on.”

“Yes. Well.” Regina’s shrugging back into her blouse, buttoning it haphazardly as her cheeks burn. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Mal teases as Robin reaches for his henley and Regina’s underwear. “I’m leaving momentarily.”

Regina guffaws, giving her coworker a look like she’s gone absolutely batty; out of the corner of her eye, she sees Robin pause, shirt half-on, like he might be willing to continue this if their audience is leaving.

“Put that back on,” she orders in a low whisper, just in case he’s under any impression they’re _not_ finished. He does, dutifully, looking properly chastened aside from the sly little smirk Regina can see peeking at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, calm down,” Mal rolls her eyes. “You can’t possibly think you're the first one to get some after-hours action in this office, and it’s not like I actually _saw_ anything. Unless you think I’m scandalized by your bra.”

Regina tucks her hair behind her ear and sits straighter, still very aware that she is _kneeling on the floor of her office where she was just kneeling over the face of her boyfriend_. “Be that as it may…” she begins, and then she scowls, squinting at the woman and questioning, “Have you really had sex here?”

“Numerous times,” Mal confirms. “It’s empty at night, it’s not my apartment, it’s conveniently located to downtown.” Robin snorts beside her, and Regina whacks at him blindly, losing her hand to him in the process. He grasps it, grips it, his thumb tracing soothingly over her palm while she tries not to die of mortification. _Why do they keep getting caught having sex?_

“And I ran into Phil and Aurora here one night ‘working late on a project’, so I know I’m not the only one,” Mal adds.

Regina’s mouth falls open, genuine surprise coloring her features. 

Robin just says, “See, I told you it was no big deal.”

Regina glares at him, but he’s still doing that thing with his thumb, and they’ve been caught by quite possibly the best person in the whole Baltimore area to have walk in on her having sex. Mal couldn’t be _less_ fazed by the whole thing; she’s only still here because she seems to be getting a kick out of Regina’s mortification. And she’s right—with her skirt still on, and her shirt barely off, and Robin mostly dressed, Mal really hadn’t seen _much_. 

So fine. Okay. Moving on.

She lets that glare fall away and takes a deep breath, muttering, “I wouldn’t go _that_ far, but I trust that Mal will be discrete?” 

Regina looks to Mal as she says that last part, earning a dismissive wave and a, “Who would I tell?” She looks between them again, still smirking, and offers a departing, “Enjoy the rest of your _work_ ,” before she steps back out of the doorframe and into the darkness beyond.

Regina drops her head with a groan of embarrassment and says, “See, _that_ is why we don’t have _sex_ here.”

Robin chuckles and leans in to press a kiss to her shoulder, dropping her hand to let his fall on her thigh and creep up beneath the hem of her skirt again. Regina closes her thighs before he makes it very far, trapping his hand between them somewhere firmly mid-thigh. 

“What were the odds someone would show up,” he reasons, and she gives him a look.

“More than we’d thought, the way Mal tells it.” He snickers again, and then his fingers wiggle pointedly, a request for her to free him again. Regina just arches a brow. “That hand better move back _down_.”

Robin pouts and points out, “You were close.”

“That was before we got caught. I am not close now.”

“You could be…”

“Do you seriously want to keep going after we just got—”

Mal’s loudly called, “BYE!” echoes back from the front of the office, and Robin’s browse bounce encouragingly.

“Goodnight!” Regina calls back, shaking her head and letting her thighs part enough for Robin to have his hand back. Predictably, he doesn’t draw it away, but it doesn’t slip it any further either, his thumb tracing lazily over her inner thigh in a way that tickles pleasantly. 

“She’s gone,” he points out. Regina just gives him another look. “Are you still wet?”

She is. Very. But that’s beside the point. 

“I still have work to do,” she tells him, instead of actually answering his question.

Two can play at that game, though, and Robin continues, “Because if you’re still wet, I could just bend you over the desk and take you from behind. We wouldn’t even have to get undressed—you’re already knickerless, I’d just have to stay unzipped. And I’d be able to see the door, so if anyone came in—which they won’t—I can just pull out and zip up while you tug your skirt down, and nobody would ever be the wiser.”

“We ca—” She pauses, mid-denial, because, well… he’s not wrong, is he? And they’ve already been caught _once_ tonight, the chance of them getting caught again is slim to none. He can tell she’s mulling it over, his brows bouncing encouragingly. 

Regina studies him for a minute, licks her lips, and then orders, “Help me back to my feet.”

Seven minutes later, she’s settling back into her desk chair, breathless and jelly-kneed from her orgasm, while Robin sprawls, smug and satisfied after his own, in the chair next to her desk.

When she sees Mal in the morning, the other woman smiles slyly but doesn’t say a word.


End file.
